


Whatever Blows Up Your Skirt

by victoria_p (musesfool)



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Crossdressing, Gen, Humor, Yuletide, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 05:00:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2838944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musesfool/pseuds/victoria_p
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the laundry tent gets blown up, the only person who has any extra clothes is Klinger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whatever Blows Up Your Skirt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Elf (Elfwreck)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elfwreck/gifts).



> Thanks so much to Snacky, my lovely beta! I just couldn't resist this prompt!

That the laundry tent had been shelled was not anything new or unexpected in the general course of things, B.J. thought, and it was a little too close for comfort to spend too long thinking about, so normally he wouldn't have. Except that he and Hawkeye had just spent the last nineteen hours in the OR, and were bare-ass naked in the showers when the bombing happened. And while they were showering, Radar had taken basically everything they owned over to the laundry tent to get it cleaned and deloused. There were no scrubs left that weren't covered in blood and/or viscera, and B.J. had had enough of that to last, well, to last a very long time. Hawkeye at least had his red robe, but B.J. was making do with the insufficiently large or fluffy squares of threadbare cloth that the US Army passed off as towels.

He could ignore the stares and wave off the catcalls, but he wasn't going to be able to function like this for very long.

"No one's got any extra uniforms either, sir," Radar said as they legged it back to the Swamp. "Not anything that'll fit, anyway. Major Winchester's footlocker is padlocked, and he's in Seoul, so unless you know how to pick it, you're out of luck. We called him, and he'll be bringing back extra fatigues for you, but he refused to cut his R & R short." As if what he was saying wasn't bad enough, Radar had Klinger in tow, which was chilling. Or maybe it was just the early spring breeze blowing up his towel. B.J. wasn't sure and he didn't think he wanted to find out. "The only person who has any extra clothes at all is Klinger."

"At your service, sir," Klinger said, snapping off a jaunty salute. He was wearing a simple outfit of butter yellow cotton with an A-line skirt and a pair of low-heeled beige pumps, and he had a gray garment bag folded over his left arm. 

B.J. was surprised to learn that he even knew the terms "A-line skirt" and "low-heeled pumps." He never thought he'd actually paid attention when Klinger spoke. He hoped Peg appreciated his new-found fashion knowledge when he finally got home.

"At least our boots didn't get blown up," Hawkeye muttered.

"Thank God for small mercies," B.J. said.

"How come all your clothes are still in one piece?" Hawkeye asked.

Klinger drew himself up and sniffed haughtily. "I'll have you know that my wardrobe is delicate and expensive, and I wouldn't trust it to the laundry if you paid me. I hand wash everything myself."

While they were bickering, B.J. tore apart his bunk and found a ratty pair of boxers that had somehow escaped Radar's laundry patrol. He slipped into them and felt at least forty percent better about the situation. He was sure it'd be fifty percent once he'd had a drink. Fifty-five when he found the balled up socks under the cot and put them on.

Hawkeye headed right for the still and when B.J. turned around, Hawkeye handed him a glass. 

"Do you have anything in silk?" Hawkeye asked. "I don't like things that chafe."

Klinger gave him the evil eye and pulled a bright blue dress out of his garment bag. "This one's for you. One hundred percent cotton, soft as can be. I expect it back cleaned and ironed when you're done."

Then he reached into his bag and turned to B.J. with an armful of dove-gray cloth. "And for you, an elegant linen sheath dress, perfect for the transition from dinner to dancing." He shoved it at B.J. "If you wear it in the OR and get blood on it, I'll kill you."

"Thanks."

"I just wanted to be very clear."

"Okay."

"Getting blood out of linen is really hard."

"I said okay!"

Hawkeye was already disrobed and stepping into the blue dress, which had a halter top he made B.J. tie around the back of his neck, and flared out gently from his hips, or where his hips would be if he had any.

"It's a little short," Radar said, eyeing him critically.

"He's a foot taller than I am," Klinger said. "You're lucky it fits him at all." He looked at B.J. "Well?"

B.J. held the dress up against himself. It was slim and he wasn't sure it would actually fit. Getting it zipped back up wasn't easy.

"How do you do this?" he demanded as Klinger zipped him up.

"Practice," Klinger answered blithely. "Women do it every day."

B.J. shimmied a little to get the skirt down over his hips. It was very formfitting. His boxers were bunching up uncomfortably. "I'm not wearing a girdle."

"I'd never ask you to," Hawkeye answered. "You look like you've just come from lunch at the club, darling. All you need are some pearls."

"I can help with that," Klinger said.

"No, that's okay," B.J. replied before this madness got even more out of hand.

"They really would set the dress off nicely," Klinger mused, shaking his head. "Let me know if you need anything else, boys."

He was halfway out the door when B.J. said, "Thanks, Klinger. Really."

"Yes," Hawkeye said, raising his glass in a toast. "You're better than Macy's."

Once they were alone, Hawkeye sprawled in his usual manner and drank his martini, but B.J. couldn't get comfortable. The dress restricted his movements more than he expected, he felt like the seams were going to burst every time he moved. He didn't know how Klinger did it. He didn't know how _women_ did it. He was definitely going to be less annoyed the next time Peg took longer in the ladies room when they were out somewhere.

He fell asleep sooner than he expected, and woke up, bleary-eyed, to Radar telling Hawkeye that Dr. Freedman was here for the poker game.

"I thought we canceled that due to sheer exhaustion," B.J. said around a yawn.

The door to the Swamp banged open, and Sidney was standing there. "I never got the message." He gave them both a measured once-over and said, "Though now I can see why you wanted to cancel."

"The laundry blew up," Hawkeye said. "It's actually much more comfortable than my lice-ridden fatigues." He plucked at his skirt, which looked just as nice as it had when he'd put it on. B.J. stood and grimaced as he took himself in. He was a mass of wrinkles from the waist down.

"Speak for yourself," B.J. muttered. 

"You know," Sidney said as they walked to the Officer's Club. "A string of pearls would really set that off nicely."

Hawkeye threw his hands up in the air. "That's what I said. But does he listen to me?" He shook his head sadly.

Once again, they ignored the whistles and catcalls--Hawkeye twirled and bowed at the applause from the nurses--and Sergeant Rizzo called out, "Save a dance for me, Captain Pierce!"

"I wouldn't," Kellye said. "He's a groper."

"Yeah," Klinger said. They all turned to look at him in surprise. "Hey, just 'cause a guy likes to wear a pretty dress doesn't give a fella the right to get handsy."

"I guess you'd know," Sidney said.

"Hey, Father," Hawkeye said as Father Mulcahy joined their little cavalcade. "Now I know why you guys wear dresses."

Father Mulcahy sighed. "They're not dresses, Hawkeye. They're cassocks. And I wear trousers underneath." He appeared to be blushing faintly.

Hawkeye frowned skeptically. "Why would you do that? The whole point of wearing a dress is so that you don't have to wear pants. It's much cooler."

"Yes," Father Mulcahy said. "I suppose it is."

Once they were inside at the O Club, Hawkeye went to the bar to get drinks while B.J. and Sidney sat down at a table. Margaret slid in the seat next to B.J.

"Hey soldier, I have a pair of earrings that'd go great with that dress."

"Pearls?" B.J. asked, resigned.

"Yes! How'd you know?"

"I'm told pearls would really set off the outfit."

Margaret threw her head back and laughed.

B.J. sighed. He couldn't wait for Charles to come back with new clothes. He'd never complain about his uniform again.

Colonel Potter joined them a few minutes after Hawkeye sat down at the table. "Well don't you boys look fresh as a daisy. I knew Radar would fix you up just right." He squinted at them for a moment. "Though you don't hold a candle to Klinger."

Klinger preened. 

B.J. fidgeted and knocked back his drink. He'd make it through this. Just like everything else about the war.

Two days later, Charles came back. By this time, Hawkeye was dolled up in one of Klinger's best dresses, a gold-lamé cocktail number that he swore made his legs look longer. B.J. had taken to wearing a blue and gray plaid jumper with a white t-shirt underneath. He felt like the world's oldest, hairiest Catholic schoolgirl.

"Well," Charles said, dropping new fatigues onto Hawkeye's cot and giving them both an incredulous once-over. "Perhaps I should have picked up those nurses' uniforms Major Houlihan suggested after all."

end


End file.
